


China White

by viatorix



Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: AU, Drug Addiction, Hurt/Comfort, Junkie!Mike, M/M, SO MUCH SADNESS, much sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cannabis smoke made the entire room hazy, but he sat there on the filthy couch by the window in the fractured sunlight. The rubber tubing was still tight on his arm and his throat was bared in ecstasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bunny choked me tight and I couldn't escape it.
> 
> Oh man, this is gonna be a multi-chaptered thing, I just pray it's not going to explode into a huge fic.

When Briggs first sees him, it’s in Quinn’s decaying house.

He and Charlie had resumed their roles as the junkie duo Eric and Katie, in an attempt to find out if Quinn knows who’s dealing the low grade poison on the streets. They had, had to think fast and move quickly, people were dying.

Cannabis smoke made the entire room hazy, but he sat there on the filthy couch by the window in the fractured sunlight. The rubber tubing was still tight on his arm and his throat was bared in ecstasy. The boy looked stretched thin; washed out. All pale lips and dark circles under his eyes, yet, as he rolled his head towards Briggs, eyes unseeing, Briggs was struck with awe and incredible sadness.

 

The boy was beautiful.

 

His bones stuck out against his skin a little too much, but his bright, floppy hair looked soft in the sunlight. He looked like he should be in graduate school, wearing a big smile; showing white teeth. A pretty girl on his arm, not here in this waste. He looked like he could be a lawyer, _should_ be one. But instead, he’s busy playing with Alice, trying to catch a dragon that never slows. Briggs felt sick.

Quinn was talking to him and Charlie, but he took no notice, even as Charlie lightly kicked his shin under the table.

“Who is that?” he interrupts, nodding his head towards the boy.

Quinn leaned around Briggs, getting a better look before waving his hand dismissively. “Just some fuckin’ junkie, I dunno” he chuffed and turned back to Charlie, scratching his chin. “As I was sayin’ I got some pretty awesome stuff comin’ in—“

Briggs got to his feet, curiosity getting the better of him. “Eric,” Charlie warned, but Briggs paid no heed, and carried on through the haze to where the kid sat, lost in his high.

He doesn’t even notice when Briggs stops in front of him, his head lolled back as far as the edge of the couch would allow. His arms are riddled with tracks, some new and scabbing and others scarred, raised and pink on this pale flesh.

Briggs crouched in front of the sofa and gently shook the kid, rousing him back from wherever he’d wandered to.

“ _Hey_ ” he called as he shook his knee. The boy tensed, and jerked towards the corner of the couch, startled. He whipped his head down so fast, Briggs swore he could hear the whiplash, and so raised his hands in front of him, trying to be as least threatening as possible. The kid looked at him, eyes narrowed, before looking around to see if Briggs had addressed anyone but him.

Briggs tapped his knee. “I’m talking to _you_ , kid.”

The boy ( _man_ , Briggs thought, **_man_**. But fuck, he doesn’t seem like it) swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple stark against his waxen skin.

“What do you want, man?”

“What are you doing here?” The pity filled his gut again, and Paul had to rub his face to keep it down as he took the boy in. _It shouldn’t be like this._

The kid laughed and fidgeted with the material of his dirty jeans. “Same thing you are, man. Gettin’ high.” He ran a hand through his floppy hair a little too hard, and Briggs could see the dandruff caught under his nails. “Nah man,” Briggs pressed, shaking his head “you shouldn’t be here. Why aren’t you in grad school?” It feels intrusive, it is intrusive, but Briggs doesn’t care. It’s stupid and risky but he needed to hear it, even though wrenchingly – he already knew the answer.

The kid recoiled like a gun, and Briggs knew he’d hit a nerve he shouldn’t have. The kid got up suddenly, and Briggs had to stop himself falling on his ass, before standing up too, hands raised.

“Who the _hell_ are you? And what do you know about me?” The boy hissed, and heads turned as he drew the attention of the other junkies in the room. Briggs could see Charlie from the corner of his eye, tensed, and ready to make a move any second. She murmured something to Quinn, and Briggs knew she was trying to calm things down on her side, now he had to cool it down on his.

The kid began to stalk away, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He looked at Briggs, eyes big and untrusting, and lips pinched tightly.

“Look, I’m sorry, it was stupid of me to assume like that. We got off on the wrong foot.” Briggs appealed and gently released his wrist. “I’m Eric,” he offered in penance. The kid stared at him, seemingly testing the waters and giving him a once, twice over, before rubbing insistently at his wrist. “Mike.”

“Mike,” Briggs breathed “nice to meet you.” Mike. Michael. It fit him but it didn’t. The room had turned away from their exchange, retreating to their rabbit holes, and Briggs and Mike were alone again in their conversation. “You gonna start lecturing me again?” Oh great, the kid has a grasp of sarcasm. Briggs chuckled, and his mouth pulled into a grin.

“Nah man, I just—never mind. Ignore what I said.” He directed the two of them back towards the couch, which blew up a dust cloud as they dropped onto its torn fabric and exposed sponge.

“So what were you taking?” Briggs questioned. Mike waved a hand nonchalantly, and pulled the tourniquet off his arm, rubbing at the lines it left. “Just Quinn’s stuff,” he answered. Briggs looked at the boy beside him, pressed close on the small couch, shoulders to knees. Too skinny, his mind supplied, too small. He tried to imagine Mike at a healthy weight, maybe a bit of muscle, his hair golden bright, and eyes creased in a smile. Fuck, he didn’t deserve this. The foundation of an idea began to build in his mind before he could let go of the image, and Briggs latched onto it like a drowning man.

“You know,” he started, flicking Mike’s shoulder to draw his attention, “if you wanted better shit, I know a guy.” The way Mike’s eyes lit up was like a punch to the gut, but Briggs didn’t let it show.

“Yeah, high grade H. Cheap too – none of this street shit.” Mike rounded on him, whatever sluggishness the heroin had caused him was forgotten in the moment. He wiped his hands briskly on his jeans, and his face split into the first smile Briggs had ever seen on him. He wanted to look away.

Briggs decided to head him off, before he could get any queasier at the situation.

“Look, give me your number, and I’ll give you mine. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and hook you up.”

“Cool, cool.” Mike nodded, arching off the couch to grab at the phone in his back pocket. The lines of his ribs showed starkly as his flimsy t-shirt rode up his stomach; bruises and cuts marring the skin.

He had to give the number twice before Mike was sure he had got it. In that time, Charlie had made her way over to the arm of the sofa, waiting patiently. She didn’t give Mike any notice, just raising an eyebrow at Briggs before flicking her head towards the front door. Briggs nodded back, before grasping at Mike’s shoulder and rising to his feet.

“Hey man, I gotta go. Take care.”

Mike lifted a few fingers in recognition but didn’t raise his eyes from the phone, even when Briggs looked back before walking out the door.

He shouldn’t have felt anything, but he did.

 

\---------

 

The ride back to Graceland was a sober one. Briggs didn’t need to explain, he knew Charlie had already guessed what was up. Still, he felt like he should say something. He opened his mouth, but was stopped by a shake of Charlie’s head.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Paul” she sighed.

“Always do.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Briggs went down to the kitchen the next morning, he was greeted by the sizzling of bacon and the aroma of fried eggs. Charlie was manning the stove, and their little motley crew was assembled at the breakfast bar behind her, waiting for their food like eager chicks -- save for Johnny who was well on his way to destroying the pancake on his plate. They greeted him with a few tired ‘Good Mornings’ when he grabbed a plate and took his place at the end of the queue.

“So,” Paige started, looking at him up and down, “how was the little rendezvous with Quinn at our favourite smack house?”

“We got shit all, “Charlie said, turning away from her cooking. She looked like she hadn’t slept well at all, and she rubbed at the dark circles under her eyes making them puffier and more noticeable. Charlie hadn’t been doing too well since Whistler’s unfortunate end, and Briggs couldn’t blame her. She wanted to catch the bastard selling the fake dope more than anyone.

“Quinn didn’t know the guy who’s putting the crap on the streets, only heard about him. Calls himself Big Bird or somethin’.”

“Whoa, sounds like Sesame Street’s fell on hard times, “Jakes chuckled from his place at the head of the bar.

“Yeah, well, Big Bird’s been selling absolute shit. Junkies are dropping like flies. We couldn’t get any more on him from Quinn; though he wants this guy dead for sure.”

“You know dealers and their turfs” Briggs said as he picked at the sleep in his eye. Charlie pointed her spatula at him, and he knew what was coming before she opened her mouth. “Speaking of junkies, Eric here made a little friend yesterday.” The group hummed at him in question, and Briggs snorted at their curiosity.

“When you gonna call him? The guy is probably chewing his fingers off right now” Charlie smirked. Johnny laughed and abandoned his pancake to knock shoulders with Briggs. “Oh?” He asked. “Does someone have a date?” Briggs grabbed him in a headlock, and Johnny squawked in protest. He only released him when the agent took a cheap shot at his gut, wriggling out from under the larger man.

“Mm” Briggs said sarcastically as he pushed Johnny away “you know how much I like them junkies, man. The more hopped, the better.” Paige left her seat, and leaned heavily on his back, twirling the phone she had filched out of his back pocket.

“Well don’t keep the poor guy waiting” She teased. He was going to have to chat to her later about theft of property.

 

\--

 

He had agreed to meet Mike under the wharf, away from prying eyes. The kid had sounded slurred, but rearing to go and Briggs felt a drop of disappointment when he found him sitting haphazardly in the sand, high on more than the breezy ocean air. He really shouldn’t have expected more. His hair was mussed like a hand had repeatedly run through it and his nose was buried in his sweatshirt, red from the cold. At least he had the decency to stand up, and brush the sand off himself before coming up to Briggs.

“So,” Mike said, straight to the point, and rubbing at his running nose, “you got the stuff?”

“Yeah” Briggs hummed and looked up the beach at the people trailing lazily along. The sun had disappeared behind dull clouds and didn’t look like it would be making an appearance any time soon. The people dipping their feet in the cool water wouldn’t come down to where they stood in the damp sand. No point. He wouldn’t have to be subtle about this. Briggs reached into his jacket and pulled out a set of steely handcuffs, which jangled and shone before the suddenly paling man in front of him. “That’s not gonna happen.”

The kid, to his credit, had the reflexes of a fucking cat. In the second that Briggs had taken to admire them, Mike was already sprinting from under the wharf, the hoodie of his ratty grey sweatshirt flying in the wind. He was fast, but his skinny form lacked the raw power in his legs that Briggs had, and within meters of the landing, he was face down in the sand with a knee pressed painfully into his back.

“You’re a fast little shit” Briggs huffed into his neck, making the soft, downy hairs there stand to attention. Mike groaned under him, and tried to valiantly buck the man off but Briggs only needed to press down a little harder before the kid became pliant.

“I should have known you’re a damn cop” Mike grumbled to the sand as Briggs locked the cuffs around his wrists. “People tend not to give a shit about whether someone should be in grad school when they’re too busy shooting up.”

He lifted his head off the sand to try and look Briggs in the eye, his slender neck twisting as far as it could. “What are you even arresting me for anyway? Intent to buy? I haven’t got anything on me.” Briggs rolled his eyes and released one of his hands grasping at the kid’s wrists. This was too easy. It only took a search in two pockets before his hand came up to present a little baggy that had been stuffed, forgotten, in the deep recesses of Mike’s jeans. There was only the tiniest of powder left in the corner, but it was all Briggs needed.

“Oh, “he said, waving the bag, “look what we have here – Heroin. A Class A narcotic. I’m arresting you on the charge of drug possession.” He pulled up the silently swearing kid, and pushed him along the beach towards the road where his jeep was parked. Mike didn’t struggle, and Briggs felt another tang of disappointment.

 

\--

 

Mike didn’t talk on the drive to the station, nor as he was pushed past the reception. Briggs gave a small ‘I’m handling it’ and the elderly officer behind the desk waved him through to the main office. Petty criminals lined the benches, cuffed there like dogs -- thieves, arsonists, and junkies alike. They ranged in race, gender, and age, and yet every one of them was more terrifying than the boy he dragged in front of him, fist clutched tight in his sweatshirt. He could see Mike subtly eyeing them, careful enough not to draw their attention to him. The kid was smarter than he took him for.

He shoved him down the hall and into a chair of an empty office, before standing in front of him, arms crossed. Mike sunk into the leather, and stared resolutely at the files scattered on the vacant desk. He looked like shit, as per usual, Briggs supposed, but at least the kid shaved and had the courtesy to spray some AXE on himself.

“You going to hurry up and charge me, or what?” Mike asked, breaking the silence. He still wouldn’t look at Briggs, just pursed his lips and bounced a willowy leg, scuffing his old sneaker into the carpet.

“No.”

The kid looked up in confusion, and Briggs pulled another chair over to him, straddling its front. He tapped at his watch, both to stall so as to think of how to word his next sentence and to make Mike fidget. He nodded to himself when he was ready and looked up to catch Mike’s gaze. Bluntness was probably best in this case. The kid tried to slide away but Briggs held steadfast, leaning down to catch it again. “You’re going to work for me as a criminal informant.”

Mike loudly snorted at the idea like it was preposterous. “Right, yeah okay” he replied, sarcasm painting his words.

Briggs felt a sluice of irritation. “You think this is a fucking _joke?_ ” He barked, spooking the kid into sitting up a little straighter. “You’re going to work for me, or you’re going to be charged with drug possession, maybe even intent to sell.”

Mike was incredulous “you’re _blackmailing_ me?!”

“If that’s what it takes” Briggs agreed. He watched as Mike went to touch his face, but remembered his arms were still locked behind his back so he scrubbed his face on his shoulder instead. He was contemplative, but it was as if the idea caused him physical pain. It was a while before he growled out his answer; however Briggs was a patient man.

“Fine.”

Briggs stood and fished a key out of his pocket, pushing Mike none to gently forward so he could release him from the cuffs. Mike grunted and rubbed at his bony wrists when they were freed, keen to get some feeling back.

“Can I go?” He asked roughly. “Not yet” Briggs replied, returning to his chair. He cracked his knuckles before leaning back and getting comfortable. “Now you’re gonna tell me why you’re not in grad school.”

Mike blanched, but settled back into the chair, picking fitfully at the hem of his sleeve. “I was in senior year at college, took some dope, got hooked and dropped out. Made my way to Southern California. That was two years ago, and that’s all there is to it” he said, voice tight and speaking to the tiny globe that sat on the desk.

“Mom and Dad?”

Mike shook his head. “Don’t give a shit. ‘Come home sober, or don’t come home at all’ they said. They got my sister to be proud of anyway; they don’t need a failure of a son.”

Briggs let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. There was more to it, he could tell, but the kid wouldn’t budge. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Not that Briggs could blame him, but the boy could be useful. He’d fallen silent again and Briggs felt a pulse of sympathy.

“Well what did you want to do with your life?” Briggs asked, leaning forward. “I doubt becoming a junkie was high on the list.” Mike shrugged, and crossed his arms, looking at the floor. “It’s stupid.” Briggs huffed and rubbed a temple. Mike wasn’t stupid, and he could believe his aspirations would have been high ones. “Try me” he said.

“I wanted to join the FBI.” _Well_ , that took Briggs by surprise, and he felt an ache somewhere in the vicinity of his left lung. He didn’t laugh though, and Mike looked mutely thankful.

“How’re you getting the money?” he asked quietly. Mike rubbed his mouth, itching at something he couldn’t quite scratch. Briggs almost thought he wouldn’t answer, until the words tumbled out, quiet and on the verge of cracking.

“I do what I have to.”

Briggs felt them roll under his skin, icy cool and he closed his eyes, uncomfortable. When he didn’t say any more, Mike took it as a sign he could finally leave and he was up and at the glass door, before Briggs opened his eyes. He didn’t stop him.

“Hey” he said. Mike paused at the handle.

“You become a CI, and you get a cut of the operations that you do. You won’t have to get by like that anymore... But Mike--” Mike glanced over his shoulder at Briggs, and for once, Briggs couldn’t tell what was going on in that mind. His face was utterly blank. “You gotta’ quit the H.”

“Yeah, sure” Mike responded simply, and thrust the metal handle down, leaving Briggs alone in the dark room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now we start to get into the plot, yay.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mike, Charlie. Charlie, this is Mike.”

The afternoon sun hung high in the sky and the heat was almost unbearable. It smothered the shore like a blanket and even the boardwalk was hot underfoot. The kid must have been dying in his long sleeved t-shirt, because Briggs was sure as hell boiling in his tank top. He, Mike, and Charlie stood under the shelter of a convenience store, away from the main crowd of people that lined the beach. Subtle enough to talk freely, but not shady enough to get people looking nervously over their shoulder.

Briggs had talked to Charlie that morning, and both of them had decided it would be best to contact Mike and see what he knew. In the two years he’d been in southern California, he must have made some decent hook-ups, especially if he’d been hanging around with the likes of Quinn. So, Briggs had sent him a quick text telling Mike to meet them that afternoon.

_Sure_ he’d received back, _what am I meant to call you, anyway? Your names obviously not Eric._

_It’s Paul._

_Seriously?_

For a smart-ass junkie, Mike was mostly punctual, and had met them at the arranged place, only a few minutes late, and dressed head-to-toe in long clothing.

“So I’m guessing no one else knows your name isn’t really Katie?”

“And I’d like to keep it that way” Charlie said, sipping on her ice tea. She watched him harshly, like she didn’t trust him in the slightest to keep the secret, but took the risk anyway. Mike looked slightly offended, but didn’t bite back, just shuffled his hands unconsciously in his pockets.

“Anyway,” Briggs said, leaning against the shop window, “we called you out because there’s a shithead that’s been selling fake dope to the masses, and we were hoping you might know something about that.”

Mike looked out to the ocean, thoughtfully chewing on his lip. So, he did know something. He looked perplexed though, like he was trying to connect dots.

“I don’t know anything about fake dope, but I heard about a lot of people that seem to be overdosing lately” he answered. “Is it related to that?”

Charlie took a big slurp of her tea. “You heard of the name ‘Big Bird’?”

Mike looked at her seriously, and muttered the name under his breath. “Uh, actually, it sorta’ rings a bell” he said, turning to her fully and wiping his nose. “Yeah actually, Olaf mentioned him I think.”

“Who the fuck is Olaf?” Briggs questioned.

“A dealer I know?” Mike rubbed the back of his neck.

“Then call him” Briggs said, and plucked Mike’s phone from his back pocket, pushing it into the kid’s chest.

“But—“

“Don’t waste our time, kid” Charlie said firmly. Briggs could always rely on her to get shit done quickly, because, frankly, she was just as impatient as he was.

“Fine” Mike said, scrolling through his contacts, before picking one and pressing the call button.

“Hey, Olaf, it’s Mike” he said after a few moments. A voice and a bout of loud laughter could be heard through the receiver, and Mike chuckled back, sitting down on the ledge of the convenience store. “Hey man, you got Big Bird’s stuff right?” An affirmative. “Well I got two buddies of mine that are looking to get some. Think you could hook us up?” There was some more garbling on the other end before Mike gave a “cool, thanks, man” and hung up. Relatively painless; Briggs was pleased.

“He said we could collect Thursday” Mike said, looking up at them from under his lashes.

“Seriously? That’s nearly a week away!” Charlie huffed and forcibly threw her empty drink in the bin. Mike shrugged. “He said he had some shit to do, and that was the first time he could do it.”

“We’ll make it work” Briggs said, and patted Charlie’s shoulder.

 

\--

 

Thursday quickly turned up, and some of the time before was spent going over with Mike about how the meet would go down. The kid learned his role rather quickly, as luckily it was an easy one – introduce them, and speak as little as possible. Briggs and Charlie would handle Olaf. Johnny and Paige had tagged along, manning the team located a little away from the house; making sure there was support if something went down.

Olaf’s house was a shithole located in a neighbourhood you wouldn’t send one of your best agents to and Briggs admired the guts Mike must have to stalk these streets regularly. That, or an irrational addiction to high class illegal substances. The house was tucked in an alcove in a relatively quiet street -- all uncut grass, and rusted chain link fence. The building itself was practically falling apart, and the wooden board of the front step groaned dangerously as Mike, Charlie, and Briggs walked to the front door. The thing looked like it was about to fall off the frame. Mike knocked sharply twice and bounced on heels, sending a small reassuring smile to Charlie, who was trying not to lean too close to any surfaces.

A clatter from inside and the soft swearing could be heard of someone thundering down the hallway, before the door was wretched open, its rusty hinges screeching as it was pulled back. The guy was greasy as hell. White, middle-aged, and looked like he hadn’t used a shower in at least a decade. Briggs suppressed the gag that threatened to blow his cover.

“Mikey!” Olaf cried, and slapped Mike’s back, bringing him in close. Briggs watched on, disgusted, as Olaf grabbed the back of his neck with his chubby fingers, and whispered something in Mike’s ear, making him laugh. They traded a few more words before Mike motioned back at Charlie and Briggs, waving at them to step forward.

“Olaf, these are the guys I was telling you about, Charlie and Paul. They’re interested in Big Bird’s shit.” Olaf greeted them with a jubilus ‘ayyy’ and gave Charlie a wet kiss on the cheek before turning to Briggs to vigorously shake his hand. “Come in, come in” he insisted and lead the way down the hall. Charlie looked repulsed as she scrubbed at her cheek with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and Briggs wasn’t as strong a man as to not wipe his hand on his jeans. Mike, adversely, looked completely in his element as he followed Olaf to the main lounge, swinging his head left and right to peek into the adjacent rooms; Briggs didn’t want to dwell on the implications of that.

The lounge was full of clutter. Stacks of CDs, magazines, and dirty plates filled the breakfast bar that hung over from the kitchen, where a girl, who couldn’t be more than nineteen, fiddled with a knife and spoon. She was gangly, not very pretty, and wholly underdressed in her singlet and panties.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Olaf growled and grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her away from the bench. White powder scattered on the surface where the girl had evidently been trying to put some on the spoon, and Olaf was livid. His face had quickly turned an ugly red that made the grease and sweat on his brow shine grossly, and his double chin wobbled dangerously as he raised a hand to slap the girl. Briggs had to stop Charlie from intervening with a soft grasp of his hand in the back of her shirt. The motherly instinct she had would typically kick into overdrive near the young and the broken, and although it had proved useful in the past, Olaf seemed to have too much of a hair-trigger temper to risk it. Briggs felt someone shifting beside him, and a side-glance told him that Mike had moved to subtly tuck himself behind the larger man, looking worriedly at the scene in front of him.

“What have I told you about touching the fucking product, Angie? It’s not for you!” Olaf hissed, and pushed the teenager into the next room, closing the door with a _bang_ behind him. “Sorry ‘bout that” Olaf said, abashedly, his anger completely dissipated and cheerful disposition back in full force. “Teenagers, you know, can’t take ‘no’ for an answer” he laughed and shrugged, moving into the lounge and clearing some of the stacks of magazines as he went. “Yeah, sure“ Briggs agreed as they moved to sit on the ripped leather sofa that faced the kitchen.

It could hardly fit the three of them, but the only other seat was a single chair that Olaf had sunk into. Charlie was pressed bodily against him and Mike was perched half on Briggs’ lap and half on the arm of the chair, his hip digging painfully into the agent’s thigh. He really didn’t get paid enough for this shit. “So,” Olaf began, scratching at his crotch, “you’re interested in what old BB is making?”

“Yeah” Charlie replied, “we heard from Mikey here that it’s pretty wild dope, so Paul and I thought why the hell not? We gotta try it.”

“You’ve tried it?” Olaf turned to Mike and asked, his face a mask of surprise. “Uh, well, no, but I heard it was good?” Mike babbled “I mean that’s what the guys were saying at, Tony’s.” Shit, just a few minutes in and the kid was starting to get jumpy. Briggs patted his thigh, giving it a light squeeze and he felt Mike relax a little against him. “Fuck yeah its good.” Olaf guffawed, but his laughter had a lilt of edginess to it and Briggs grew suspicious. He looked at Charlie from the corner of his eye, and she met him half-way. She noticed it too then.

“So how do you know Big Bird?” Briggs asked. He saw no point in the small talk about how good the dope-that’s-not-actually-dope was. All they needed was to get the info, buy a small supply, and then leave. “How do I know Big Bird?” Olaf repeated. His lips twisted into a frown, and he paused like he actually needed to consider how he knew his own supplier.

There was a small creak of a door opening, and from within the young girl crept out and towards the kitchen. She slinked behind Olaf, who was still rubbing his chin in thought, pressing a finger to her lips, and lunging silently behind the breakfast bar. All three of them watched as Angie grabbed the spoon and the half empty, tiny bag of heroin, and crept back to her room. Before she slipped away the girl sent a wink, directed at Mike, and a small tilt of her head asked him to follow.

Fuck. Shit, fuck.

Briggs softly grabbed at Mike’s jeans to stop him, but Mike wasn’t looking at him. His focus shifted between Olaf, and Angie, and back again, wetting his lips.

“Hey Olaf” he piped “could I use your bathroom real quick?” Olaf looked up from his reverie, and waved his hand “sure, go ahead kid, you know where it is.” Mike thanked him, and shot up from his seat, quickly disappearing into the room Angie had fled to. Briggs and Charlie could do nothing but watch him go.

“Ah! That’s right!” Olaf jeered and slapped his knee. “I met BB at this old bangers place a few years back. Great guy; really great guy.”

“Yeah?” Briggs asked, barely interested, he was too busy straining to hear what was going on in the next room over. “Yeah, man. Works out of his garage, making this high quality stuff” Olaf continued. This guy was a fucking idiot, he hoped Paige and Johnny were getting all this. “Anyway” he said, getting up from his seat, “I’ll get some from my stash for ya’ it’s a bit costly though, so get your—“

Mike’s strangled cry pierced the house and Briggs immediately lurched out of his seat.

“ _Get a fucking ambulance!_ ” he barked to the transmitter in his watch, and burst into the bedroom to find a terrified Mike leaning over a convulsing Angie. “What happened?!” Briggs yelled, and pulled him back from the girl. Mike was shaking badly, and his eyes were big and wild. “Sh-she shot up” he stammered, and gripped tightly at Briggs’ arm, his nails breaking the skin. His hair was mussed and his t-shirt looked like it had been pulled at, and there, wrapped around his arm, was the last thing Briggs wanted to see – a tourniquet.

“ _Did you?!_ ”

“NO! I mean I almost...” Mike’s voice was hysterical, and he tried to reach for Angie again. The girl’s eyes had rolled back into their sockets, and she had started to froth at the mouth. The foam was a sickening pink. He hauled Mike away from her, and tried to hold him back from her body. _Where the fuck was Charlie?_ Speak of the devil, Charlie charged into the room a second later, looking utterly furious. “He fucking ran!”

“Hold him!” Briggs said and pushed Mike towards her, returning to Angie to see if there was anything he could do. The seizure had started to slow, but it wasn’t a good sign; her lips had purpled and her skin had turned a pallid blue. The convulsing wracked her body, and Briggs kept hold of her sides to keep her relatively stable, but it was no use. A few seconds later, she was gone.

Briggs sighed deeply, and closed the girl’s eyes. Watching someone die was never easy, no matter how many times it happened. He turned back to Charlie and Mike. Charlie was on the floor with him, clutching him securely to her chest, and gently stroking his hair. The kid was gasping, heaving with every breath and Briggs wanted to grasp his shoulder, but he stayed his hand. “She’s dead” he whispered, over and over, and Charlie shushed him. “I know, baby” she breathed, and continued to stroke his hair.

 

\--

 

Olaf didn't make it very far, Paige made sure of that. They cornered him two streets over, his body on the edge of exhaustion. Turns out, he wasn't made for much more than a fast walking pace. Briggs and Johnny were hanging out behind the FBI truck, when Paige swaggered over, twirling something small and black in her hand.

"Guess what I found?" She trilled. "The meaning of life?" Johnny countered, trying to snatch at her hand. She dodged him and whirled out of the way before depositing a small cell phone in Briggs' palm. It was an age old Nokia. No wonder it had survived Olaf. He scrolled through a few of the contacts; most of them were aliases, and stupid ones at that. Then again, Briggs didn't expect much from hood junkies. He kept going until he found the one he was looking for -- BB.

"Where's Charlie?" Paige asked, peeking around the van. Briggs rubbed at his temples. "Went with the girl's body to the morgue." Charlie had insisted of course, she probably felt like she owed the girl, or that it was the least she could do. Briggs looked back at the house, all covered in yellow tape. Agents, a forensic team, and common police flowed in and out of the house, taking or cataloguing everything they could. They hadn't found much, just as Briggs didn't think they would. Mostly, it was just the normal things dealers had -- dope and a few wads of cash, and apparently, a load of old seventies porn mags.

"Hey" Johnny said, lightly hitting Briggs' chest, "he okay?" He nodded to where Mike sat on the edge of the curb in front of the house. He looked a wreck, and painfully small under the orange shock blanket someone had given him. It had taken a while to calm him down, but he left Angie's body without incident, absolutely refusing to look at it as he was drawn from the house.

"Afraid not'" Briggs said and left the group, making his way to where Mike sat. Mike looked up when Briggs dropped down beside him, wiping at his puffy eyes. His skin was ashen, and it made his cheekbones stand out sharply.

"How're you holding up, kid?" Mike made a noise low in his throat, and shook his head, picking at the hem of the blanket. Not well then. Briggs sighed. Though the kid had heard of the number of deaths around the streets, Angie's had probably been the first he'd actually seen. Suddenly it was all too real, and Mike wasn't handling it so well. Reaching out, he put a hand over Mike's shoulder, pulling at the kid and tucking him under his arm. Mike let him do it without saying a word, relaxing into it like he belonged there.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Mike said after a moment. His voice was cracked and broken, as if he hadn't used it for years. "Hey, don't sweat it" Briggs started "this was your first time, and you didn't do too badly, all things considered."

"No, not that" Mike said, and Briggs looked down at him in confusion. Mike turned, and his face was so sad, so wretched, it was hard to keep the ache out of his chest. "I want to quit heroin" He specified and pinched his lips hard, like doing so strengthened his fragile resolve.

" ** _Help me_** , Paul. I don't want to die like Angie" he pleaded softly.

Briggs looked at the boy next to him, frail yet earnest, and Briggs saw within him, a faint echo of himself. One that he tried his best not to remember.

"Yeah” he replied. “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I had some real life stuff to do, and I also found it difficult to write this chapter. Still not quite happy with it, but hey.

When Charlie came down the stairs and into the lounge, Briggs was on the sofa waiting for her. The night had been hot and stuffy, and she hadn’t gotten as much sleep as she would have liked, even with all the windows of her room forced wide open. Then, with the open windows came the roar of the sea and really, it was just one problem after another. And it seemed like Briggs lounging patiently in front of the TV was going to be the opening of another can of worms.

Yesterday had been rough, admittedly. Charlie was a trained professional sure, and she made damn sure she did her job, and did it well, but she wasn’t a machine. Or at least she didn’t pretend to be, like Briggs did. When she sat in the back of the ambulance with the girl’s body, a tear or two may have slipped out, however hastily they were wiped away.

It had been Charlie that had to fill out the paperwork for Angie, and for once she didn’t mind. She didn’t know the girl, had never seen her before, but someone had to make an effort. She doubted Angie’s next of kin would be making an appearance any time soon, if at all. They had wheeled the girl away after the forms had been filled out, carting her sheet-covered body to the depths of the hospital. A tag on her toe, and a bed surrounded by cold aluminium walls. Charlie hoped she would never get used to seeing this.

So when she walked into the living room, only for Briggs to turn to her, Charlie wanted to go straight back upstairs. She could technically, as today was one of her days off.

“No way.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna ask. Charlie, it’s important.” She shook her head and walked into the kitchen to hunt for some breakfast. Briggs trailed in behind her, and stopped her with a hand on the door when she tried to open the fridge. “Mike wants to get clean. I need your help” he said.

Charlie sighed. So, the news was good. Good on the kid for finally seeing the error of his self-destructive ways, but what did Mike getting clean have to do with her? She asked as much to Briggs.

“Why can’t you help him? He’s your CI.”

“Believe me, I want to” he clarified, “but the bureau is on my ass about the case. Although I’m glad that Mike’s made this decision, he’s kind of made it at a bad time. He’s going to need at least three days to get past the absolute worst of the withdrawals, and I can’t have any time off.

“But you” he said, grasping her shoulders, and pushing his knuckles into the muscles just the way she liked ( _damn him_ ) “have time off. Enough time to help him through the worst of it.”

“And what makes you think I give a shit about Michael Warren?” she asked, and shoved his hands off her neck. The drawer rattled as she roughly pulled it out to grab a spoon. What was another junkie to her? One that would probably start using again as soon as it got hard. One that...

“The way you held him on the floor of that shitty house speaks otherwise, Chuck.” Briggs’ words were soft spoken, but Charlie felt the weight of them on her. She didn’t mean to care for Mike, it just happened. _Damn it, why did she care?_ When she looked at him, she saw a rusted, broken thing. Something that was supposed to work so well, that was _made_ to work well, but somewhere along the way, it had just fallen apart. And yet, even though it _was_ rusted and broken, it still had so much potential. _It could be repaired_ , no matter how badly it had been damaged, and not as deep down as she expected, she wanted to help fix him. Briggs could see that far too easily; the bastard had always been more perceptive than was good for him.

He was waiting for her to answer, his head tilted in earnest. Finally, she nodded her consent.

“Thank you, Chuck. Really.” Briggs said, touching her cheek. “You care too much about this kid” Charlie joked, and slid her fingers across his hand to clutch it tightly.

“He’s useful. Plus, everyone deserves the chance to clean up their life.”

 

\--

 

Briggs had given her a key, and told her that he had already sent Mike to an apartment that another CI of his owned, but had vacated for the time being. It was located in a quieter part of town on the east side, for which she was thankful. It wasn’t in the best shape, as she had trouble getting the key in the lock, but it was good enough.

Mike was sitting solemnly at the breakfast table, a glass of water in front of him, and a nickel danced between his fingers. He perked up at the sound of the door opening, and the dumping of her bag of clothes off to the side. However, when he saw Charlie he withdrew in surprise.

“Hey Charlie. Where’s Paul?” he asked, confused. Charlie glided over to the kitchen, and sunk down on the opposite chair. “Sorry, kid” she sighed “Paul couldn’t make it, the bureau wants him to work on the case. Afraid I’m the alternative. You got a problem with that?”

“Oh, I guess not.” Mike deflated. Charlie took a good look at him. He looked as worn out as her, although likely for a different reason. As exhausted as he looked though, he seemed anxious – jumpy. He clutched the coin tight in his hand, tapping it against the surface of the table every so often. His leg was going too, bouncing in time with the nickel’s intonation. Charlie knew what this meant; it was starting.

“How long since your last hit?” Mike rolled his jaw, focusing on the _tap, tap, tap_ of the coin. “About ten hours.”

”You ever been this long without it?” Charlie questioned, crossing her arms. Mike pinched the coin between his thumb and forefinger, taking a closer look at the indents on its silvery plating. “I went without dope for two days once” he said, flicking the coin into his palm “It felt like I was dying.”

They fell into silence as Charlie contemplated his words.

It seemed like such a long time ago, but she had heard those words once before from a different man. A man she had used for the same purpose Mike had. Whistler. He had said them when they sat together in his garage, a tiny model chair in one of his hands, and a paintbrush loaded with glue in the other. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked him to stop shooting up, but it was the first time he said why he couldn’t. _I can’t do it, Charlie_ he’d said _it feels like my blood turns into acid and it burns everything up. I could swear I’m dying._ And then he had turned the conversation back to the work she needed help with and acted as if he’d never said anything.

Charlie had never taken heroin, although she had wondered. Pure euphoria? Who wouldn’t want to try that? Just a little china white, and then every problem seems like bliss. But at what price? The boy across from her had paid it, and then some. The question of _why, why did you do it Mikey?_ Bubbled on her lips but she held her tongue. Maybe he would tell her, or maybe that was something that only Mike Warren had to know. Maybe Charlie didn’t even want to know. Heroin wasn’t the only thing that induced bliss, after all.

There was a jolt that almost tipped Mike’s drink as he suddenly moved to pull off his sweater, and hastily threw it to the side. His face had grown pale and sweaty, to the concern of Charlie. “Are you alright?” she quizzed warily, reaching out a hand, but Mike stiffened, covering his mouth, before abruptly jumping to his feet and racing to the bathroom. After a moment of banging, Charlie could hear violent retching coming from across the hall, and she followed the sounds with a glass in her hand.

Mike was draped unceremoniously over the toilet bowl. His skinny arms clenched around the porcelain tight in an attempt to hold himself up, but they shook dangerously as he shuddered and coughed. He groaned loudly and pulled down the handle to flush the toilet before leaning back against the bathtub, tilting his neck back as far as it could go, the sweat on his brow shiny under the fluorescent lighting. Charlie filled the glass with water from the sink, and handed it to him, making sure he had a firm grasp of the glass before letting go.

“Sorry” Mike said, sipping at the water. Charlie breathed deep, the feeling of pity like a brick weighing heavily under her ribs. Mike had nothing to be sorry for.

“Don’t worry about it” she answered, crouching down and settling herself till she was pressed beside him. “Shit happens. We just gotta’ deal with it.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with my problems though” Mike told her “I did this. I was the one who fucked up.” He swallowed heavily and leaned away against the toilet. “Yeah, but you don’t get to decide who cares about you” Charlie said and patted his leg. Mike looked over at her, his eyes had grown big and moist at the edges, and his eyebrows pulled low into a frown, as if he couldn’t understand what she just said. “Why would you care about me?”

“Because you’re worth more than you think you are” she shrugged like it was obvious, and Mike recoiled as if he’d been struck. She smiled at him, open and honest. He needed to understand that. She had to make him understand that. “How can you believe that?” He whispered, pinching his lips.

“Pretty easily”

Mike laughed incredulously, a few tears that had been forming at the corner of his eyes escaped and slipped down his cheeks. He wiped at them hurriedly before they could reach his chin, and stared at Charlie like she had given him a gift. She supposed she had, in a way. The thought made her feel incredibly sad. No one had probably given a shit about Mike in a very long time. So she curled their fingers together and squeezed gently, watching as Mike breathed a sigh of something akin to release.

“Thank you” it was hardly audible, and masked with a yawn, but it was there.

“Do you want to sleep on the bed?” She questioned, keen to turn the conversation in a different direction, but Mike shook his head. “I just wanna’ stay here.”

“Then let’s try this instead” and she dragged him down, until his head rested on her lap, and she could card her hand through his sweaty, mussed hair. He was asleep not five minutes later, and she followed not long after.

Charlie awoke with a jolt and an awful pain in her neck. She had fallen asleep with her face pressed against the tiled wall, and her cheekbone hurt where it had taken most of the weight. Mike was groaning in her lap, face clenched in her jeans, and he rubbed irritably at his skin. He was awake, but evidently trying to be as quiet as he could while not moving around. Evidently, it didn’t work. She touched his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Mikey?”

“It hurts, Charlie” he hissed. “It’s like bugs under my skin.”

“I know, baby, but you’ve got to power through it.” Mike moaned at her response.

“I can’t do this.” He sobbed, and crawled off her onto his hands and knees. He was heaving, sucking in deep breaths through his teeth like he couldn’t get enough. At this rate, Charlie feared he might start to hyperventilate.

“Yes you can” she assured him, kneeling beside him. “Come on, Mikey, remember why you’re here.”

“No, I _can’t_ ” Mike forced out. “Charlie, it’s too hard. _Please_ , I just need a little bit, not much. I know where I can-”

“Hey” she grasped at his face, burying her fingers in the hairs of his neck. “Remember what you told Paul?” She said as she lightly shook his face. “You told him you didn’t want to die. Well this is you, Mikey. This is you not dying; you’re fighting to live, so you gotta’ keep fighting. You will get through this.”

“Come on” and she pulled him quickly to his feet, guiding him into the darkness of the apartment. Charlie tried to feel for a light switch, but quickly gave up her search as she made out the lines of the double bed in the dull streetlight that shined through the window. Mike was shaking hard, and his skin was lined with goose-flesh. Every so often he’d let out a noise, from low in his throat, of pain and his breathing would become a little harder before settling. He had quietly taken her words to heart then, and she felt the sting of pride as she smoothed a hand across his bony shoulders.

She laid them down on the bed, and curled protectively around his body, pushing her legs in between his – locking them together.

“Will this ever end?” Mike whispered to the silent apartment.

“Not really” Charlie answered for it. “But it becomes easier.”

 

\--

 

Briggs twirled the pen between his fingers, staring steadily at his laptop screen in front of him. The investigation was currently knee-deep in shit. If one were to check Olaf-the-dope-dealer’s call log, they might find that before he was taken down by the FBI, he managed to say a few choice words to his good friend Big Bird, or as he was known to the rest of the world – Jacob Wilkinson. Good news was that Wilkinson was no longer producing fake product, bad news was that he had gone into hiding.

His old employment and tax files showed that he worked for a large chemical company based in San Francisco six months ago, but was fired due to misconduct. The FBI had searched his house, and sure enough, the guy had been working out of his garage, making a compound called something Briggs couldn’t pronounce. He picked up the lab report that sat off to the side, and looked at the name again; there was no way in hell he could say that word aloud, but he thought it had something to do with cyanide. Nevertheless, this guy was a qualified asshole. Who would’ve thought?

So, Briggs sat in front of his laptop, the little clock on his toolbar said that the time was just past ten at night. He looked around his station, eager to stare at anything but the glaring text in front of him, and caught sight of his phone. It had been a few days since Charlie had left to look over Mike, and she had sent him a few updates at his request. Nothing too specific – he’s eating, he’s sleeping, that sort of thing. The past day though, he’d received nothing. Briggs had been tempted to call her, but thought better of it. She was a trained agent; she could handle whatever was thrown at her.

The minutes ticked by. Five became ten, and ten became forty-five. His dull reverie was interrupted by the unannounced opening of his bedroom door, and there, in messy clothes, stood Charlie. Her face was darkened with quiet scorn, and her jaw was stiff as she stared him down.

“Did everything go okay?” He asked, turning away from his work. She didn’t answer him, just pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Chuck?” He became slightly worried now. Had something gone wrong after all?

“Don’t _ever_ ask me to do something like that again” she told him, her words punctuated with so much ice that Briggs felt the shiver of it on his skin. And then she left, retreated from the room like a ghost, leaving him to the jarring bleep of a newly received email.


End file.
